


Your kisses taste like home

by harold_styles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Cute, Dom Louis Tomlinson/Sub Harry Styles, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Harry Styles Loves Louis Tomlinson, Larry Stylinson Is Real, Louis Tomlinson Loves Harry Styles, M/M, One Shot, Post-One Direction, Post-The X Factor Era, Smut, The X Factor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26655772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harold_styles/pseuds/harold_styles
Summary: 5 + 1 times Harry and Louis kiss (and maybe do more than kissing)
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 162





	Your kisses taste like home

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy this little fic! Remember English isn't my native language so let me know of any mistakes or inconsistencies if you can/want.

The first time it happens it is Harry who closes the space between them. Two shaking hands grab at the white t-shirt and pull with so much force their teeth clash before their lips do. The kiss is sloppy and noisy and Harry is so obviously inexperienced that it would make Louis laugh if he wasn’t too busy freaking out. They are both young and they are both boys and they are both on the brink of something so big it doesn’t fit in their minds. Even if it weren’t in these circumstances, even if they were in the privacy of their homes and not in the middle of a shared room with their new bandmates snoring around them, this kiss would be so much more than a simple kiss. Harry is Harry and Harry is a boy, and Louis is confused, his stomach twisting and turning in unfamiliar and yet so familiar ways it scares the want out of him. Because he wants, he wants so badly to reach out and grab the curls in Harry’s head, play with the little hairs on the back of his neck, push him to lay down on the bed and let his lips explore the white, white, white landscape of Harry’s chest. But they are not at home, they are not alone, they are more than ordinary teenage boys and the kiss means so much more than more; it means a weight Louis is not ready to carry on his shoulders. So he pushes Harry lightly, smiles at him and turns around in the bed, already planning how to dismiss all this when tomorrow comes.

The second time it happens it is Louis who does it. They are fighting over the remote, Louis’ body thrown over Harry’s and his hands searching for that place below Harry’s ribs where he knows it tickles more. Harry is laughing in that way that makes Louis feel like he is standing under a too hot sun in a summer afternoon, the light shining directly into his eyes and his heart beating in his chest like he’s just run a hundred miles. He manages to grab the remote and wiggles his body, struggling to get into a sitting position on the couch. Harry lets out a moan, so quiet Louis almost misses it. Almost. They both freeze in their places, looking at each other with fear, with surprise, with curiosity. There was always a very fine line between them, the ghost of a limit between what they could and could not do, could and could not say, could and could not want. And yet they wanted anyway. Louis tries a roll of his hips, desperate to elicit one of those sounds from the other boy. He pushes their mouths together and, as soon as the noise is spilled into his mouth, he knows they are lost. This time he can’t dismiss it, but he can blame himself. Sorry, Harry, it was a mistake, he says later. Harry nods, and locks himself in his room. 

The third time it’s actually the beer’s fault. They stumble into Louis’ hotel room, all five of them, drunk off their asses. Liam and Niall fall into the couch, Zayn somehow ends on the floor with Louis, backs to the wall, and Harry throws himself on the bed. They chat, drunkenly, about the night and the show they gave and the ones that will come. They’re drunk off beer and the fame and the lights and the shouts of people screaming their names. It’s so much and so overwhelming still that the awe is permanently stuck to their faces. 

They replay some moments of that night, and laugh their asses off remembering Niall being hit on by a very young fan. Harry starts snoring and they decide it’s time to go to sleep, only none of them can convince Harry to move, so Louis tells them it’s alright, to just leave him there. The others go away and Louis stumbles back to bed, manages to push Harry into a corner and lay down on the other side, crawling under the covers and turning his back to his friend. 

He’s just starting to drift into sleep when Harry moves closer, puts his hands around Louis’ waist and presses himself against Louis’ back. He starts nipping at the back of Louis’ neck, his hands sliding under Louis’ t-shirt to pinch at the skin of his stomach. Louis starts breathing quicker, tries to resist turning around, until he feels Harry thrusting lightly against him and he loses the battle that he’d just started in his head. He turns around and kisses Harry, sloppily, hungrily, and Harry kisses back.

They make out until their lips are swollen and red, until their jaws hurt and their hands start twitching with the need to go lower. But then Harry murmurs an apology, says he’s tired, turns around and goes to sleep.

The next day they wake up tangled in each other, heads pounding and someone knocking and calling their names. It’s Liam, who’s cursing them for not showing up at rehearsal. So Louis gets into the shower, then wakes up Harry with a kick to his legs and tells him they should be down like, fifteen minutes ago, so to rush the fuck up. Harry gets into the shower. Louis doesn’t wait for him to come out before leaving.

  
  


The fourth time, Louis is high. Like, really fucking high, and Harry is angry. He grabs Louis by the arm and drags him through the crowd looking for an empty room. The place is unknown to Harry, which makes him anxious, and the amount of people pushing and rutting against him is making him feel all itchy and panicky. He pushes, turns and twists, opening doors to bedrooms that are occupied by people having sex, by people doing drugs, by people and people and more people, most of whom he doesn’t even recognize from the ceremony before the party. He finally opens a door to a relatively big, empty bathroom, and he pushes Louis in front of him. He enters and locks the door behind him. 

“What the fuck, Lou?” he yells, pointing a finger at the other young man. 

Louis laughs. “What?” 

He stumbles from one side of the room to the other, looking for God knows what. He finally finds the bathroom counter and, with difficulty, manages to push himself up and sit on top of it. Harry steps closer, positions himself in front of his friend. He tries to grab Louis by the chin, but the man snatches his hand off.

“Leave me alone”

Harry shakes his head. “Why were you…?” He feels his eyes well up. “Lou, are you okay?”

Louis looks at him. His eyes are completely red, glassy, and Harry doesn’t know everything he’s taken but he can see that he stopped him just in time. 

Harry grabs his chin again, and this time Louis lets him. He runs his thumb over the man’s cheek. 

“I know you’re better than this, Lou”

He sees Louis’ eyes turn sadder. “Maybe I’m not”

Harry feels his stomach turn with anger, with rage, but not at his friend. At the industry, at the fame, at the people who think they know what’s best for them better than they do for themselves. He pushes his forehead against Louis’, and feels the other man breath shakily.

“Louis, listen to me” he says, voice steady. “You’re by far the best person I know. You’re…”

But Louis doesn’t let him finish, because he’s kissing Harry. He’s burying his hands on Harry’s hair and pushing their lips together with force, with intent, and kisses him like he’s drowning and Harry is oxygen, like he’s thirsty and Harry’s water in the middle of the desert, like he’s lost in the darkness and Harry’s the light at the end of the tunnel. Harry returns the kiss, because how could he not? He kisses Louis, runs his hands up his sides, curls his fingers on the fabric of Louis’ sweater. He knows his friend is high, isn’t probably completely aware of what is happening, and maybe this is wrong but it’s been long since they did this, and Harry can’t help it. He just can’t help it. He steps even closer, feels Louis wrap his legs around his waist.

“Hazza,” he whimpers against Harry’s mouth, and Harry thinks he’s going to die with how much he  _ wants _ . “Please”

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. He separates for a second, struggles with the button of Louis’ black jeans. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands shaking. Louis is kissing sloppily down his neck, which is not helping.

And then someone is banging on the door. A female voice shouts for them to come out, it’s an emergency and the bathroom is urgently needed. Harry groans and Louis bursts out laughing. They leave then, Harry half-dragging Louis behind him and trying (and failing) at hiding the obvious tent in the front of his trousers.

  
  


The fifth time it feels like goodbye. It’s been months of not being allowed to sit together at interviews anymore, or whisper jokes in their ears, or say stupid innuendos or tweet cheesy things at each other. It’s been months of being forced apart, literally and figuratively, and it’s starting to weigh on them. Harry finally realizes about it one horrible night in which the guys are all hanging out at Liam’s apartment, chatting about unimportant things, when Louis discretely puts a hand on his knee under the table andHarry jumps so suddenly on his place that he falls off his chair. The other guys rush to check if he’s okay, and then burst out laughing when they’re sure he is. But Louis is not laughing. Instead, he’s looking at Harry with a mix of pain and sadness that makes Harry’s insides twist and turn. 

Louis walks out then. Just stands up and leaves, and the others look at Harry as if waiting for an explanation. Harry murmurs an apology and rushes to follow the other man. 

Outside, Louis is getting in his car.

“Lou, wait!” Harry yells, but it’s hopeless. By the time he runs down the stairs, Louis is driving away.

Half an hour later, Harry arrives at his and Louis’ place (which is, technically, only Louis’ place publicly, though they still very much live together). Louis is nowhere to be seen, so Harry heads to his bedroom. He finds him there, sitting in the bed in nearly complete darkness, only the soft moonlight that shines through the window casting shadows on the walls. He’s facing the window, and Harry can only see him from behind, so he’s surprised when he walks to face him and sees that he’s crying. 

Harry kneels in front of him. 

“Lou”

Louis shakes his head, laughs painfully. “God, I’m so dumb”

“No…” Harry tries, but Louis cuts him off. 

“I am.” He looks at Harry. “I thought we were stronger than this”

“We are!”

“No, we’re not. I can see how it’s affected us already.” 

Another silent tear slides down his cheek and Harry resists the temptation to wipe it off with his thumb. Then wonders why he’s resisting, when he never would’ve before, and realizes Louis has a point. So he stays silent.

“I can’t even touch you,” Louis continues, voice breaking at the end.

Harry swallows, thinking of his next words. “You can,” he whispers. “You can, Lou. Always”

Louis stays looking at him, searching for something in his eyes. And Harry doesn’t know what it is but he hopes Louis finds it, would give him anything at this point, if only he would ask.

But Louis seems to find  _ something _ , because he hesitantly puts a hand on Harry’s cheek. Harry closes his eyes, leans into the touch. Before he can open them, he feels the light pressure of Louis’ lips against his own. It lasts for a second, and then Louis is asking in a murmur:

“Is this okay?”

And Harry almost laughs out loud. Is this okay? “God, yes,” he answers, and pulls Louis towards him, kissing him harder. He opens his lips, receiving with a whimper the familiar yet always pleasant feeling of Louis’ tongue sliding on top of his own. After they’ve been kissing for a moment, Harry pushes himself to his feet, somehow trying not to detach himself from the other man, and now sits down on Louis’ lap, one knee in each of his sides. He kisses his friend with renewed fervor, then feels Louis pull at his hair to kiss down his neck. 

“Off,” Louis murmurs, tugging at his t-shirt. “Take it off”

Harry does as ordered, and then helps Louis take off his own white t-shirt. He lets his hands explore with new freedom the vast expanse of Louis’ chest, fingers dancing over his tattoos, index lightly pushing against one nipple and feeling it harden at the touch. 

Harry tries a roll of his hips.

“Fuck, you’re hard” says Louis, as if he’s just realizing about that. Harry, again, feels the need to laugh, because he’s been half-hard since the first second of kissing Louis, like it always happens. 

“Yeah” murmurs Harry, incapable of stopping himself from giggling a little. Then he bites his bottom lip, watches Louis follow the movement. “What are you gonna do about that?”

“Shit, Curly,” Louis gasps. He pushes a thumb against Harry’s mouth, where his lip’s still caught between his teeth. Harry lets his mouth fall slightly more open, pushes forward to suck a little at Louis’ fingertip. “What do you want me to do to you?”

And it’s the word choice, you see, the fact that Louis is asking what he can do  _ to _ Harry, like he’s giving control of the situation to Harry when they both still know he could do anything, anything he wanted to him and Harry would let him. Because he must know, right?

“Anything you want” Harry clarifies, just in case, and rolls his hips once more to affirm his point. 

Louis nods. “Then take off your trousers, love, and lay down on the bed”

Harry does as told, undressing as quickly as he can, aware that Louis has seen him naked a thousand times yet nervous all the same, because it’s just so not the same when Louis is looking directly at him, at his body, hands in fists like he’s physically stopping himself from reaching out. 

Once Harry lies on the bed, Louis moves on top of him and kisses him again, hard. He’s touching Harry everywhere, except for the place where Harry wants him the most, and teases around it until Harry is twisting with need and starts pushing up seeking desperately for some friction. 

Louis chuckles. “Patience, Curly”

He takes off Harry’s underwear then, slowly but surely, and Harry envies how comfortable Louis seems with all of this, and wonders if he’s done it before with some other man. He almost asks, but then Louis puts a hand on his cock and his mind goes blank. 

Louis spits in his hand, grabs him again and strokes him lazily, slow in his way up and quick in his way down, and even though it’s not how Harry himself does it, it’s wonderful in a whole new way. 

“Lou,” he moans desperately, not knowing what he’s asking for at first but realizing it a second later. He puts a hand on Louis’ to stop his movements. “Lemme touch you. Please,” he begs.

Louis looks at him for a second, then leans down to kiss him again. He bites Harry’s bottom lip, then detaches himself. He moves to the side for a second to take off his underwear, then comes back on top. Harry casts a look down, can’t help but open his mouth at the sight of Louis completely naked before him. Completely naked for Harry to touch. 

“Do you want to…?”

“Yes,” says Harry, cutting him off. 

“Fuck, okay.” Louis moves to kneel above Harry, crawls until his crotch is near Harry’s face. Harry’s breath quickens so much he’s both afraid he’ll die of lack of oxygen and amazed that he likes the sensation so much. He looks up at Louis, who’s also looking at him, and curls his fingers around the base of Louis’ cock. He wets his lips in anticipation, then slowly leans forward and traps the tip of it inside his mouth. He licks at the slit, sucks gently, tries again when it rips a moan out of Louis. Then he works on getting Louis wet, sliding his tongue up the sides and around his cock. He puts his hands on Louis’ bum, then, his lips around the tip again and finally,  _ finally _ , pushes him into his mouth. Louis moans louder, murmurs something incomprehensible, and puts a hand on Harry’s hair. Harry’s eyes roll upwards and he moans around Louis, pushes him from the back again to try and convey what he wants.

Louis understands, murmurs again, starts thrusting into Harry’s mouth, first slowly, carefully, then bolder when he realizes just how much Harry’s actually enjoying it. 

“Shit, ‘m not gonna last long, kitten”

The nickname does things to Harry he can’t explain, and he whimpers, chokes a little when just then the tip of Louis’ cock pushes against the back of his throat. He reaches down, starts stroking himself, trying to coordinate the movement of his hand with the movement of Louis’ hips, same pace, same harshness. He’s running out of air and he just doesn’t care, is actually flying from it, getting off on it, and Louis must realize just how lost in it he is because he’s murmuring Harry’s name and the word  _ fuck _ together more times than Harry can begin to count. He tries to warn Harry, then, that he’s close, but Harry relaxes his jaw even more and allows Louis to push deeper. He’s got saliva running down the side of his mouth and the sounds Louis’ cock is making as he enters and leaves Harry’s mouth are the most obscene thing he’s ever heard in his life. With a gasp, Louis comes, thrusting into Harry, who comes into his hand with a loud moan as soon as he feels the first salty taste of Louis on his tongue.

After that, Louis slowly pulls out and crawls down, letting himself fall on the bed next to Harry. Harry touches his throat, moves his jaw a little. He knows his voice will be ruined for tomorrow’s rehearsal and the thought of it, the knowledge that he’ll have physical proof of what just happened and that he’ll feel it all day tomorrow almost makes his cock twitch with interest. He looks next to him at Louis, who has his eyes closed and an arm across his forehead. 

“Fuck, Harry,” he says, and opens his eyes, turning his head to the other man. He smiles, then, and Harry does too. 

“Was it good?” he asks, hesitantly. 

“Good?” Louis laughs. “God, H, it was the most… God, it was just…”

Harry laughs, his throat aching a bit at the effort. “Good”

Louis smiles wider at him. “Really good”

Harry, too spent to think twice, gets closer to Louis and rests his head on the man’s chest. He lets his fingers trace the skin on Louis’ stomach. 

“What now?” asks Louis in a small voice, almost as if he wished Harry wouldn’t hear.

Harry’s stomach turns upside down. “I don’t know,” he sighs. 

“We can’t…” 

“I know,” Harry interrupts, because he doesn’t want to hear Louis say it. He knows they can’t be together. He knows it’s complicated. “I don’t want to talk about it now. Please?”

Louis nods. And they don’t talk about it. They fall asleep close together, and wake up closer the next morning. They have breakfast, then go to rehearsals. They don’t talk about it. Days go by. They sleep together again, a few more times. They don’t talk about it. Not even when the other boys begin to suspect the shift in their relationship, not even when they make good-hearted jokes about it or when Niall straight up asks them if they’re together. Not even when Modest begins to insist on them being apart more than ever. Not even when they begin tweeting nasty things from Louis’ Twitter account. They don’t talk about it, until it’s too late.

  
  
  


The last time is like coming back home. It’s been years of almost silence, of just a message or two, a call that one time. At some point they start to feel like strangers, both of them thinking the other is too busy, too caught up in his big career to notice. They notice. They notice every day, waking up alone in bed and going to sleep alone at night. Lonely breakfast and trips, lonely Sunday afternoons. Both of them, different continents, checking their phones in the middle of a party, expecting words that never come. They write songs to each other. They are aware of that, at least. They sometimes feel like it’s the only way of communication between them. Harry, apparently, wants Louis to apologize. Louis tries to, sings it, shouts it at crowds everywhere he goes. But either Harry doesn’t listen, or is as scared as Louis of the consequences of doing so. 

Until one day Louis can’t take it anymore. So he buys a ticket. Or, well, more like an entire box seat worth of tickets in the effort to keep some privacy. He knows it’s stupid, that people will see him there nonetheless. But does he care? Maybe it doesn’t fucking matter anymore. He wants to see him. 

So that night he goes to the concert. He manages to talk to Harry’s security, tells them it’s a surprise and to please keep it secret from him. He sits down, thinking he’s ready.

He’s not. 

God, Louis has seen live videos from his concerts before, knows every note Harry can hit and the ones he can’t, knows the movements on his body and every inflection of his voice. Yet watching him now, free on stage, dancing and singing and interacting with the public is beyond amazing. It leaves Louis breathless. 

And then Harry announces the next song. Louis’ heart skips a bit. 

“The song is called  _ If I Could Fly, _ ” Harry says into the mic. 

He starts singing, in that beautiful, sweet voice of his. Louis leans into his seat, heart in his throat, skin tingling from the feeling of hearing that song again in Harry’s voice alone, memories of Harry whispering it to him shyly for the first time coming to him like they happened just the day before. He can feel his eyes well up.

And then Harry looks up.

Without stopping his singing, he looks up and directly at where Louis is sitting. A smile dances on his face, but he doesn’t seem surprised. He looks like he was planning every last detail, like he was waiting for the exact moment in which he could let Louis know he knows he’s there. Louis could swear Harry’s eyes light up, even from a distance, and confirms it when the fans start screaming and pointing at where Louis is. Because they’ve probably guessed, they always do, even though Louis is mostly in the shadows. 

Louis doesn’t care.

He can’t take his eyes from Harry. 

When the concert ends, Louis sneaks backstage, hands still shaking. Someone points him in the direction of Harry’s dressing room. Louis finally arrives at the door, and stays there for a second, taking one deep breath before pushing it open. 

Harry’s sitting in front of a mirror checking his phone. When Louis enters, he looks up and finds his eyes in the mirror. 

“Told them it was a surprise,” Louis breaks the silence, closing the door behind him. 

Harry smiles. “They’re not allowed to keep secrets from me”

Louis rolls his eyes. He then walks to the big sofa in the room and sits down, resting against the back and closing his eyes. He’s just realizing how tired he is. It must be from all the strong emotions. He hears Harry getting up and walking towards him, then feels him slumping down on the couch next to him. It’s a big couch, yet Harry leaves barely any space between them. 

“So?” Harry asks, tentatively. 

Louis turns his head to the side and opens his eyes, finding Harry’s wide green ones looking at him. 

“So I’m here” he says, merely a murmur. 

“I see that,” Harry smiles. “Why are you here?”

Louis considers his words for a second, then says screw it. “Missed you too much”

Harry’s eyes turn sadder. He tilts his head. “Lou”

Louis sighs. “I’m sorry”

“For what?”

Louis shrugs. For everything, he wants to say. For hurting you, for letting you hurt me. For falling in love and being too much of a coward to own up to it. For singing to you instead of talking to you. “For everything,” he says at last, and hopes Harry understands. 

He must, because he nods slightly and repeats, “I’m sorry too, Lou”

Then, tentatively, they start talking. They chat about their lives, about everything that’s happened while they were away from each other. Louis comments on Harry’s concert, teases him about it, but then says he’s proud of him. He sees Harry loosen up, breath better, smile more, slowly but surely beginning to feel at ease close to him. His heart warms up at the idea, as he himself feels like he’s coming back to his own body.

At one point they fall back into silence, and stay quiet looking in each other’s eyes, backs still resting on the sofa but heads turned to each other. 

“I meant what I said,” whispers Louis. “I really, really miss you”

“Present time?” asks Harry.

Louis laughs. “Yeah, present time, Hazza”

Harry raises his hand and rests it on the side of Louis’ face, thumb caressing his skin. Louis feels like he’s going to die if Harry doesn’t kiss him. But he does. He does. Harry closes the space between them and slides his lips against Louis’. And Louis missed the taste of him so badly he feels his whole body tremble with how utterly good it feels, how familiar. And maybe it’s not going to be easy. Maybe they are risking a lot with this kiss, maybe less or maybe more than what they were risking all the times before. Maybe it’s not the best kiss they’ve shared, but it is, wonderfully, not the last.

**Author's Note:**

> Please please leave a comment, they make me so happy :3


End file.
